


Insects

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Careful what you wish for. Most dire warnings! This story is intensely disturbing. (03/10/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This is an AU and Death!Fic. Big-time Death!Fic. No redemption-type Death!Fic. If you're not up for fear, agony and death, please RUN SCREAMING. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
  
Thanks and deepest apologies to my betas: Squeakylightfoot and Kageygirl.  


* * *

Oh God, it hurts. My head, my joints, my spine, everything. My feet: they're so fucked up now, wrong shape for my boots, but I haven't had time to take my boots off. Haven't had time for anything but running.

I can still hear the soldiers behind us, the thin wheeze in Malcolm's lungs as he breathes. Keen ears, I suppose. What she did to me has to be good for something.

"How close are they?" Malcolm gasps at me. His uniform—what's left of it—is soaking and he stinks of sweat and blood. There's something else too, just around his shoulder blades; it's a bad smell, and I wonder if he's already got an infection. He stumbles, and I reach for him, but he's lurched back into balance an instant later and just goes on. I don't know how he can do it, carrying what must be at least an extra eighty pounds on his back. But he's still keeping pace, still trying to protect me.

I wish he wouldn't. I wish he'd leave. That way I could stop, sink down to the soft grass and rest for a little while. Just a little while, before they get me. There's no point in my being alive, anyway. Not anymore. I just want to be free of the pain.

But one of us should make it through this. That's not too much to ask, is it? That he gets to live?

"I don't know," I pant back at him. I don't know how he's understanding me - the only noises I can make don't even sound like English. But he just nods, glances over his shoulder. When he turns his head his left shoulder drops slightly, and his wing drags on the ground.

Malcolm screams; pitches forward. I automatically reach for him, but my arms are wrong now and my balance is off because my legs are so different, and instead I only manage to crash into his side and we both fall to the ground. I land on my chin and bite my tongue hard. Suddenly I can taste my own blood in my mouth and it makes me want to gag. Malcolm's scream turns into a howl of agony as part of his right wing is trapped under his body. The noise is like being stabbed through the ears, and I move away from him as fast as I can. Malcolm rolls onto his stomach, pushes himself up to his knees. His right wing slides along his back, no longer being pulled, and he's finally able to stop screaming. I can hear the soldiers again. I think they're a little closer.

Malcolm's in agony and there's nothing I can do about it. His head has fallen forward and he's shaking. His breath rasps out of him in heaving sobs. I want to touch him, but I'm afraid I'll just make it worse.

The bruises on his back are really bad: huge circles spreading out from where the wings are attached. It makes me wonder if his shoulder blades are broken; they might be, with all the extra weight pulling against them. I'm sure the wings have ripped nearly all the muscles in his upper back. The skin is torn too, right where the white, feather-covered flesh connects into his back. That's the source of the blood I've been smelling. The blood and the infection.

"Malcolm," I say, and he turns his head so he can look at me. His eyes are hooded and weary with pain, and I realize I don't know what to tell him; I'm all out of words.

He just waits and breathes. Those obscene, beautiful wings tremble on his back. In the distance those soldiers are still coming, just as relentless as the man who created them. We're downwind and I think I can smell the metal of their guns.

"I'm sorry."

"It was an accident." He thinks I mean the fall.

"No," I try to explain, "I'm sorry. For, for all this." I gesture at his back, those terrible wings. "For everything."

Malcolm blinks, his mouth twitches in a smile. "None of this is your fault, Captain."

"I'm sorry anyway." I try to smile back, though I don't believe him. I'm also gasping, though it's more because of pain than exhaustion. My feet twinge—it feels like they're being crushed—and I finally go to take off my damn boots.

But I can't make the zipper work. I don't have any thumbs.

* * *

When the woman—no, she wasn't female then—when the _being_ first grabbed us, it was strange but not all that unpleasant; it felt a little like being pulled up through water. I think only the bridge crew were taken, maybe because there were so few of us and all in one space. I remember Trip had just come onto the bridge, and then there was an incredibly bright light and that sensation like water. Suddenly we were all in this space, a kind of gray nothingness, stretching out wherever you looked. I wasn't able to move. It was probably just a few hours ago, all of it. I was still me then, still human.

We were still able to speak, and I asked everyone if they were all right. Malcolm said he was 'fine,' of course, and Travis asked if anyone knew what had happened. T'Pol just said it appeared that some force had taken us from the bridge. As if that wasn't obvious.

Then Hoshi asked where we were, what had happened to the ship and the rest of the crew. I tried to answer her, tell her something reassuring, but I didn't know. I still have no idea. Maybe _Enterprise_ is gone; maybe it's just myself and Malcolm left, waiting to die with everyone else. Maybe they're all fine, wondering if they'll ever get their Captain back.

Trip was suspended to my right, struggling futilely against whatever bonds were holding us. I'm sure he was thinking of that creature that got into our cargo bay a few months back: how its tentacles had felt, squeezing too tightly to allow movement. I could hear his breathing speed up.

"Trip!" I made my voice as harsh as I could, trying to startle him out of his panic. He actually gasped, tried to turn towards me. In the end he could only move his eyes in my direction.

"I need everyone sharp if we're going to get out of this," I snapped at him, "I need to be able to count on you." I tried to sound angry, give him something else to focus on. If it meant the rest would think I wasn't afraid, so much the better; it would make them less anxious.

"Yessir." Trip was still breathing too fast, but he sounded a little better, a little more calm, and I gave him an encouraging smile.

"Captain..." Malcolm's voice was controlled, but tense with warning.

The alien, or being, or whatever it is, had probably been there all along, observing us. But suddenly it was _there,_ where a second before there had been only the six of us, paralyzed, hanging in nothing.

It didn't look female, or even remotely human at that point. It was just a presence, barely perceptible, like a shadow against darkness. I remember distinctly that I felt a moment of elation - that if we could see it, if we could communicate with it, it would let us go. Everything would be all right.

"We're humans," I said, hoping it could even hear me; hoping it would understand. "From the planet Earth. We're traveling through space, on a peaceful mission of discovery and exploration."

A moment passed. There was no reaction.

"My name is Jonathan Archer," I said.

I couldn't see so much as feel it hovering there. Gray on gray, doing nothing.

"Maybe it's shy," Malcolm muttered.

"Not like we can do anything to it," Trip said.

"Shut up," I ground out, "both of you."

"Do you think it even knows we're here?" Hoshi asked. Her voice sounded thin and frightened.

"I don't know," Travis said quietly. "Maybe it wasn't what brought us here."

//I was//. The voice was nowhere and everywhere at once, genderless and impossibly loud. T'Pol cried out. Hoshi clenched her eyes shut and let out a small scream. I couldn't blame either of them—the noise reverberated through our bodies like a physical blow.

"Why?" I asked, trying not to gasp or grunt with pain.

//A mission,// thundered through us, and I heard Hoshi sob. There was a pause, then: //a mission, of discovery and exploration.// My own words.

There was a longer pause after that; I wondered if it was waiting for me to talk again. "We can answer any questions you may have," I tried, "but—"

//You are in pain?// If anything the question was louder, shuddering like a jackhammer up my spine.

"Yes!" I said, wincing. "We are very sensitive to noise, and your voice is much louder than we can comfortably listen to."

//I will accommodate,// the being said, though those words were just as loud.

And the presence moved...

I didn't see—I couldn't tell—if it actually went _inside_ Hoshi, or if it just did something to her, but Hoshi started screaming. I'd never heard anyone scream like that. It sounded like her soul was being torn out.

Maybe it was. All I know is that her nose, eyes and ears started bleeding. Hemorrhaging, pouring blood, more blood than I'd ever seen. And she wouldn't stop screaming. It was like her life was rushing out of her with her voice.

God forgive me, but I was thankful when the screaming finally stopped. Hoshi dropped, staggered a little, though there was nothing like ground for her to stumble on. She laughed as she regained her footing, brought her hands in front of her eyes, then threw her arms back and stretched.

Then she looked at me, her face stained red, and she smiled with her blood-covered mouth.

"Is this better?" she asked in Hoshi's voice, but I knew Hoshi was gone.

"Hoshi?" Travis asked. He sounded so terribly young.

"Where is my comm officer?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "What have you done with her?"

"Hoshi's not here anymore," she said. She shrugged, then repeated the action, obviously enjoying it. "This is mine, now." She cocked her head, still with that bleeding, horrible smile. "This is a human?"

"Bring her back!" Trip shouted. "Bring her back, you bitch!" He would have kicked and bucked against the restraints if he could; as it was, I could see him sweat with effort, but he wasn't moving at all.

She ignored him completely, began walking around the circle she had created with our hanging bodies. T'Pol had been on Hoshi's right, and now the alien stopped in front of her. She reached up and gently ran the tips of her fingers over one of T'Pol's ears, then said something in Vulcan.

"That is correct," T'Pol said. I could only imagine what she was thinking, but she sounded completely calm. "I am a different species."

"Vulcan," the being said. "Green blood." She reached up with one finger and softly traced a line down T'Pol's cheek, starting just under her eye. T'Pol didn't even twitch as her face started to bleed. "Pretty blood." The finger continued downwards, trailing along T'Pol's neck, down to her collarbone. Blood started to pulse, then spurt in gouts out of the wound.

"T'Pol," Travis whispered. T'Pol's dark eyes were huge, her face going completely white.

"She's going to bleed to death," Malcolm said. The alien looked at him. "You won't be able to see any more pretty blood if she's dead."

"I know," she said conversationally.

"You're killing her!" Trip shouted. "She's not some insect—she's a person! Let her go!"

"Trip—!" But it was too late. Even as I opened my mouth I know it was too late. "Oh God..."

I didn't see her move, but she was standing right in front of him, gazing up placidly into his face. "Insects," she said thoughtfully. I could only see what was happening out of the corner of my eye, but his eyes were glistening, his face contorted in rage.

"We're not insects," he spat at her. "We're human beings."

"T'Pol isn't human," she said. She glanced over her shoulder, to where my sub-commander hung. T'Pol's blood wasn't running anymore. Her uniform was covered with green, a thick pool of it under her feet. Her eyes were blank and dead.

"But that doesn't matter now, does it?" the alien asked him sweetly. "There's only humans left, and you are mine." She turned towards me, beaming.

Still looking at me, she reached out and placed her hand gently on Trip's chest. "Love," she said, as if it were a pleasant surprise. She closed her eyes and a tiny tremor went through her. "That's so _nice._ " She opened her eyes again, smiling up at Trip. "You're a good man, Trip," she said to him. "Hoshi cared for you deeply—did you know that?"

"Bring her back," was all he said.

"No," the alien responded. She looked at me again, moved her hand, two fingers resting against the thumb.

She snapped her fingers.

I heard the clicking sound as she shattered his bones, one by one by one. I could hear each one break, even through Trip's screaming. I was just able to see the slight shiver in his muscles as the long bones broke, hear his breath catch as each rib cracked and then came apart. I don't know if he passed out from the pain, finally, right before she killed him, or if she fractured his skull. But the last thing she broke was his spine. It was absolutely silent; I could hear each vertebrae crack like ice. "Insects," she said again. "Small invertebrate animals." She winked at me with one of Hoshi's bleeding eyes. "Cracked him like a carapace."

I couldn't speak, could barely hear her past the roaring in my ears. My vision was going red around the edges and I forced myself to breathe, swallow back the lurching bile.

The being continued to look at me, face bright with amused curiosity. "What you're feeling now—is that physical pain?"

"You know damn well what it is." My voice sounded strangely dull, like it was coming from a different person.

"Of course I do." She grinned, "of course I do."

Travis was on the other side of Trip. He was crying almost silently, eyes huge with anguish and terror. The being walked up to him next. She seemed to step into the air as she approached, so that they were exactly face-to-face when she stopped. She touched her finger to his tears.

"He's just a pilot," Malcolm said dismissively. "Why don't you come and talk to me?"

She glanced at him, then back to Travis. "In a minute," she murmured. She brought the finger to her lips, tasted it then smiled. "Salty," she said, pleased. "Your blood is salty, too." She cocked her head again as she looked at him. "Your skin and hair are so dark—are you a different species?"

Travis just swallowed, said nothing.

"He's the same as us," Malcolm said. "Leave him alone."

I should have said something, lured her away from him the way Malcolm tried to do. But it was like my head was filled with the sound of snapping bones, no room for anything else.

"No..." she said, considering, "he's not the same." She leaned her head in towards him, as if sharing a secret. "You weren't born on Earth." She smiled tenderly at him, smoothing his tears away with her hands. "You're just like me, starling. Tell me," she whispered, "do they call to you, too?"

"I'm not like you," Travis said. His voice shook.

"You could be," she said to him, "if you want." She cupped the side of his face, leaned in even further until her lips were nearly grazing his. "I know what you want, starling," she said. "I know you want to be back among the stars."

And she kissed him, then stepped back, laughing. And Travis began to change.

He didn't have time to scream, but I could feel it, like agony pouring off him in waves. She released him from her hold, and he fell, but even as his body tipped forward he was no longer Travis. He stretched out, skin and muscle and bone, until I could see the veins underneath like looking through thin paper. His arms became sides of a triangle, attached to his hips. His torso rounded and thickened like a cylinder, his neck and head thinning, becoming a point. His skin changed color, becoming a deep, shining black.

Where Travis had been was a starship, barely the size of a shuttle pod. As if he had never been anything other than angles and shining metal.

But I could still feel him screaming.

"Oh God," I moaned, "oh, God.

She winked at me and then the little starship was gone. "He's out in the stars," she shrugged. "He's happy; it's what he wanted."

"You're wrong," Malcolm said hoarsely. "You've destroyed him."

A heartbeat later she was next to him. "I like your accent," she said. "It sounds nice. Are you the only one on your ship who sounds like that?"

"What have you done with _Enterprise?_ " Malcolm said. "What have you done with our ship?"

"You talk too much," she said to him. "Let's see what _you_ want." She undid the paralysis and he dropped. Before he could even react she had thrust out her right hand and pressed it to his face, over his eyes. "Shhh..." she whispered, "why can't I know?" Then she grinned delightedly. "Guardian angel!" she said. "Of course you are. Of _course_ you are!"

Then it was Malcolm's turn to scream.

The wings, brilliant white and completely beautiful, burst out of the skin of his back, pressing at his uniform until it tore. They spread out gloriously, seemingly large enough to carry him, but he was still screaming and I could see the blood trails start down his back, staining his uniform. He didn't stop screaming until she let him go, and he fell to his hands and knees. He stayed like that, gagging and moaning. His wings flopped uselessly, beautiful and ridiculous.

She pulled me across the room to them, releasing me from my own private prison. I dropped to my knees next to Malcolm, reached for his shoulder, but the slightest touch caused him to gasp and shudder painfully.

"It's your turn," the being said, almost whispering. She was kneeling next to me, smiling with Hoshi's mouth. The blood was still fresh and red against her skin. She cupped my chin in her hand, softly running the pad of her thumb across my lips. "What do you want, Jon?" she asked. It sounded like the most romantic kind of invitation.

I didn't even hesitate. "I want to rip your fucking head off."

She just laughed. "I knew you were going to say that."

* * *

I was still changing when she put us out on the field, so I don't remember much. The next thing I was really aware of was Malcolm, kneeling next to me this time.

"Can you stand?" was the first thing he asked me. His voice sounded determined as ever, though his blue-gray eyes were clouded with pain.

"I think so," I said. My voice was wrong, like a growl. But I couldn't move right away - it hurt too much. It felt like all my bones had been twisted, muscles and joints no longer sliding together. My uniform didn't fit, pulling badly or lose in all the wrong areas. "Malcolm?" I didn't even sound human. "What did she do?"

He just smiled sadly. "You're the alpha male," he said, "so I guess it's fitting." He began to climb to his feet, hissing through clenched teeth every time one of his wings moved. "We have to go," he said, "I'm sorry."

He offered me his hand and I took it. Getting to my feet was awkward and it seemed every part of me was aching. My feet hurt, like they were the wrong shape for my boots. "Why?" I asked. "What is it?"

His smile became grim, apologetic. "She made an army," he said, "from my memories. She said if we outran them we could live."

An army. I looked at him. "Can we outrun them?"

He shook his head. "No."

* * *

But we ran anyway, and we're still running. Only I don't know if we can keep this up any longer. And I don't want to. I just want it to end.

I don't even know if she's watching. Maybe she lost interest hours ago. We didn't mean very much to her, after all.

I wonder if there's anything left of _Enterprise._ I wonder if Travis will be the last of us: flying forever in agony amongst the stars.

I wish I had died with Trip. I wish I'd been able to save Malcolm.

"You should run," I say to him. "I'll hold them off as long as I can." I finally manage to grab the zipper between two of my fingers and pull off one boot. The relief is indescribable. My foot is rounder now than it is long. Dogs have feet like that.

I move to the other boot, but Malcolm grabs the zipper pull before I can fumble with it and yanks the zipper open. He straightens up with an effort. "Don't be absurd," he says. "You know damn well I'm dying even if I could outrun them."

I swallow, though it feels strange. "Maybe if you could get far enough away, signal the ship—"

"You know the comms don't work anymore," he says gently. I know. We both tried them. There wasn't even static.

"I don't want you to die, Malcolm." I don't know what else to say.

Malcolm reaches forward, cups my face in his left hand. I guess I have a muzzle now, so it doesn't feel the way I expect, and there must be fur where skin used to be. "We'll give them a damn good show of it, Captain," he says, and smiles. I stay so still I can hear the hammer-beats of my own heart. "It's been an honor."

"The honor was mine," I growl. I can barely breathe. One of my ears twitches; the soldiers are so close now I'm sure if I look away from Malcolm's eyes I'll be able to see them. The Nazi uniforms, and the machine guns.

"Please, Jonathan," Malcolm says, "go." He gets to his feet with a grimace, then turns and runs back the way we came. His wings are spread out like an angel, almost as if he could fly.

The shots sound especially loud to my newly sensitive ears, and without even thinking about it I bare my teeth in a snarl. But I run. It's the last thing I can do for him; he begged me to go.

The scent of bullets and Malcolm's blood follows me.


End file.
